


Grim Dragon's Blood

by Ironpen, Xeppa



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Areadbhar haunts her gremlin grandkids, Areadbhar will never stop teasing Seiros, Blaiddyd got it on with a dragon lady and now we're here, Blaiddyd's going mad is absolutely terrifying for good reason, F/M, Gen, Granny Areadbhar AU, Setanta is their son, Xeppa's fanon is our canon compliment, sibling shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironpen/pseuds/Ironpen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeppa/pseuds/Xeppa
Summary: A collection of Ficlets and drabbles from what MsBlueBell's AU discord has taken to calling the 'Granny Areadbhar AU'
Relationships: Blaiddyd/Areadbhar, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Areadbhar, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46
Collections: BBell's Discord Grave, Welcome to Faerghus





	1. The Eye

**Author's Note:**

> The escape from the prison cells of Fhirdiad was not kind to Dimitri, nor the weeks following.
> 
> An ancestor of Dimitri's knows that fact well.

If Eithniu still had the strength she would curse her mother, Blaiddyd, her younger self, the world, everything really. It was a recurring feeling, every time she watched one of her descendants succumb to both hers and her mother's enchantments on the line of her husband.

She watched her grandson withdraw on himself, gripping the weapon made from her bones with a grip so firm it could turn stone to dust, shoulders shaking as he desperately tried to hold back his sobs. He had already been fraying, but seeing the Duscan man plunge into combat and become speared with arrows had pushed Dimitri to the brink. Pulling the blue cloak, really nothing more than an abandoned Faerghan battle standard, around himself, Dimitri rested his forehead on his knees. 

Eithniu wondered if he could see her, did he think her just another delusion conjured by poor nutrition and an already ailing mind or were the other ghosts just drowning her out? 

Eventually the sobs died down and Dimitri's body stilled, the slow rise and fall of his shoulders betrayed his slip into slumber, but even then she heard his whimpers and groans of pain. Eithniu had enough and sat beside her grandchild, spectral hands stroking his matted blond hair as she hummed a lullaby so old even she couldn't remember the words anymore. 

It wouldn't help him, nothing ever seemed to truly quell the nightmares, but if the quieting of his murmurs was anything to go by, it was at least lightening the burden.

Eithniu, or Areadbhar as her husband's kinsman knew her stared into the small fire and cursed herself and her mother once more.

As it does, anger gave to sorrow, weeks had passed and Areadbhar had hovered around the blood of her blood, giving what little support she was able to keep him going. Just seeing him now, desperately marching through fresh snow in clothing barely fit for the job was tearing her no longer physical heart to shreds.

Poor food, poorer sleep and the snowfall had worn his formerly perfect poise and stance until he was simply hunching over, stooped and forced to use the spear of her bones as a walking stick.

A tortured gurgling gave it away, the wilds of Fearghus were not a place for someone who had spent weeks and months in a prison cell only being given the barest food needed to keep him alive. Even Dimitri's titanic strength would falter if he had not the energy to move properly.

She had watched him eat wild berries and weeds that he knew to be poisonous just to stop the hunger pangs. How many times must she curse whatever cruel being made such a horrid universe?

Things only went from bad to worse when the shouting started. Soldiers, Adrestians going by the red and bronze colour of their armour and uniform. Dimitri merely growled and pulled the sackcloth disguising his Relic weapon's distinct blade.  
In spite of hunger, cold the freezing chill Dimitri was still a titan of battle, perhaps if he didn't have her spear, Areadbhar might have been worried, but the confident taunts of the soldiers quickly became terrified screams of pain as the divine bone tore steel and flesh and splintered their bodies.

A flash of silver and crimson and a scream split the air, it seemed Dimitri's state had slowed him just enough and Areadbhar screamed in terror. Even as her grandson howled in pain and fury, even as he struck the Adrestian so hard with his bare fist the man's chestplate imploded, even seeing gain revenge so quickly it wasn't enough to dull the pained concern.

One more loss, this time, his eye, one more curse against this world.

In this cold such an injury would surely kill him. Areadbhar would not let such a thing come to pass. Desperately she conjured what little divine strength she could gather as naught but a spectre and forced it into Dimitri, he'd not notice with how much pain he was in, but it would be enough, it had to be enough to keep his body warm until he could find shelter.

As she saw Dimitri clutch his now destroyed eye, saw him steal the soldier's clothing for warmth and rations for food, all the while muttering to himself.  
"I will kill her, snap her neck, tear her skull apart!" Blaiddyd's madness once again finding root in her grandson's mind. Areadbhar couldn't stand to see it.

And while it broke her heart to see her noble and kind grandson reduced to such a state she swore vengeance herself, Areadbhar would see the Hresvelg girl die.

She was not losing this child of her blood. Not this time.


	2. The Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Areadbhar guides her grandson to a certain grave.

Weeks bled into months, Dimitri had lost all sense of time, was it two days or two weeks since that strange itch at the back of his mind had led him to this place? He could no longer say, just as he could no longer distinguish between the pain of his wounds or the numbness from the cold.

A frigid gale blew, Dimitri remembered vaguely that it used to hurt, like a file being scaped across his skin, but the pain was absent. Or maybe he had become numb to it.

Shrugging his furs about his shoulders Dimitri pressed on, a growl of annoyance escaping his mouth as he knocked some red frost from his relic spear. This far from civilisation the great wolves and lions of Faerghus were the gravest threats and even in his delirium, Dimitri knew he needed to be careful.

He had no idea why he was headed this way, but that green haired woman that flashed into his vision every now and then seemed to want him to come this way.

Perhaps it was lingering thoughts of _her_ that made Dimitri follow her bidding, the green hair sparking feelings of trust and joy that he was slowly locking in ice and frost and rime.

Eventually a dome came to view in between the snow covered pines, it's sides covered in mossy, but white stone, and Dimitri's brow quirked in disbelief, a passage tomb? Here?

"It would make good shelter at least" Dimitri muttered to himself he saw his father, throat weeping crimson glaring at him and he shrunk upon himself "I am sorry father but I must, I cannot go any farther tonight, once I am rested, then I can avenge you, please just until the morning".

Dimitri forced himself to ignore the judging words and glares of his ghosts as he walked up to the ancient grave.

Dimitri found rest hard to obtain even in shelter, the howling winds and distant cries of Faerghan snow lions and the keening shrieks of mountain gryphons echoed through the chamber of the passage tomb he was sitting in.

The noise of beasts and wind had even drowned out the ghosts it was so loud.

He felt like nothing but some Draugr or corpse-walker he was so tired. Desperately he clutched at his scalp as the condemnations of his loved ones' ghosts became louder, each time Dimitri answering with requests for patience.

"I will kill her, believe me, but I cannot if I am dead" With that, the ghosts faded for a time, back to their rest.

'And yet one ghost remains' the green haired woman, short and strong, with a fierce, if sad gaze occasionally flickered into his view. She reminded Dimitri of a painting back in Fhirdiad, in Castle Blaiddyd, of his great aunt, the same aunt he was told he and his father resembled.

A shiver, unrelated to the cold, ran through his body. Just being in this tomb set his instincts on edge. Like dagger points dancing along his spine.

Each time the green woman faded into view she was pointing at something. At least this ghost seemed easily placated, all she wanted was for him to see something? 

Hefting himself up Dimitri walked to the wall the strange woman was pointing at, nothing but mossy stone in front of him. 

The strange feeling only intensified, and the exiled prince could make out a faint glimmer behind the dark green vegetation. Roughly scraping the moss aside Dimitri could not stop the hiccuping gasp that tore through him.

Blaiddyd's Crest.

"Then this must be....Blaiddyd's true grave"

A strange warmth filled him then, if he could see her, he would see the green haired woman looking at him with sad, but warmth filled eyes and a hand on his shaking shoulder.

Feeling around frantically Dimitri tried to find some purchase in the old stone wall, the indent it was built into suggested it was a door and Dimitri felt some deep need to see beyond this wall/door. 

Was it the delirium? His crumbling sanity? Dimitri didn't quite know. The green haired woman was cheering him on, or she seemed to, he could only hear the faintest noise from his newest ghostly companion.

Eventually the exiled prince found small finger grooves and with a great heave and grunt, pulled. It took some time for the boulder of a door to move, Blaiddyd clearly only wanted his descendants to enter. 

The massive slab of a door slammed into the side wall of the crypt, and Dimitri, even in a state of rage and despair could feel the solemnity of the place.  
The crypt was filled with old treasures to serve Blaiddyd well in the afterlife. Racks of weapons, fine fur coats, even a few barrels of what Dimitri could only assume were truly ancient barrels of mead and ciders.

A testament to how well sealed the crypt was, for they were all in pristine condition.

The green haired woman was drifting close to something, trying to wave him over, the last Blaiddyd sighed, somehow unable to summon the anger that came so easily, not at this ghost, not in this place.

It felt wrong, to do so.

Dimitri's eyes widened upon glimpsing what she was looking over, a pristine set of armour, and, in providence that Dimitri found hard to believe, it was perfectly sized for himself.

His own lack of properly fitted armour never felt more obvious at that moment.

Balking, Dimitri glared with his one good eye at the green haired woman, who merely stared back.

"You wish for me to rob my ancestor's grave? Of all things!" 

To this, all she did was point at the inscription on a plaque near the bottom of the armour stand.

"For thine use, child of future years - Blaiddyd" 

Dimitri felt his knees buckle, Blaiddyd had kept a spare suit of armour for him? Had he recieved some kind of prophecy before his fall all those years ago? Or was it merely a guess that had been proven right?

Dimitri felt something grab his hand and place it upon the black platemail, too shocked to fight it the exiled prince could only stare at the ghostly woman. 

"You must tell me your name when you can spectre, you have been here since it all went wrong and it feels wrong not knowing" 

Though her lips moved, Dimitri could not hear what she said, save for "A...bh....r" 

He smiled, though he would soon descend into naught but further madness and grief, Dimitri felt at least, for now, a glimmer of comfort.


	3. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was strange how content Areadbhar felt, just sitting here in a warm room listening to blizzard rage outside while she was wrapped in simple furs before a roaring fire.

It was strange how content Areadbhar felt, just sitting here in a warm room listening to blizzard rage outside while she was wrapped in simple furs before a roaring fire.

She felt Blaiddyd's arm wrap a bit more tightly around her shoulder and she leaned into it with a contented sigh, it truly was strange, all things considered, that a child of Sothis, of the creator goddess herself to find peace and happiness in the arms of a normal human man, sitting before a fire.

A wry smile slipped onto her face "F'only Seiros could see me now, she'd be laughing herself silly she would" she muttered sleepily, one hand finding it's way to her abdomen.

It seemed her mutterings roused her love from his own dozing and she found his warm blue eyes gazing in amusement at her. "Seems tah me, mah love, that yae've had a bit of rivalry with yer own family, yae really were Faerghan afore ever steppin' foot here" his voice was groggy with drink and sleep but full of adoration and Areadbhar could only smile and tuck herself into his shoulder more tightly.

She gently slapped him for the comment though, which earned her a laugh and a hug.

"Ah mean no harm an' yae know it my dear shieldmaid, but ya've near to never spoken of yer family, an' yae left me curious says I"

It was true and it stung. Areadbhar was not like the other Nabateans, born to embody certain aspects of the world or to help their mother shape it into a better form.

Areadbhar, or rather Eithniu was the child of death, of war and strife and carnage, in spite of being the firstborn she was Destruction born from the womb of Life and that always made her seperate from the others of Zanado.

"Ah never told ya even a single story of my family a'cause I've not many happy stories to tell, Blaiddyd" said Areadbhar, tightening her hold on her husband. This was the only man, the only person beyond her mother at that, she had ever allowed herself to be vulnerable around.

Though she was the demigoddess of War, of Carnage and Slaughter, she was still just a person at the end of the day, and a person could not bear solitude for long.

She felt her lover plant a kiss on the crown of her head. "Ah'd love tah hear even the sad stories if yae'd honour me with 'em"

Areadbhar looked up at Blaiddyd with a watery smile, what had she done right to earn such a man? She laughed wanely.

"A'right, A'right, Blaiddyd, yae win, I'll tell ya some stories since yae've been _so insistent_ on yer poor wife" 

She stared into the fire roaring and thought for some time on just what story to tell

"Way, way back in mah childhood ah had been playing with mah good fer nothin' sister Seiros, mah smart little brother Cichol, jolly Indech and a right arse of a brother called Macuil...."

\--------------------------

The secret village of Zanado was a tranquil place that the Goddess herself had chosen to reside in. There, She had many children, each of whom inheriting a sliver of Her grace. 

Of course, in the early years they were still very much children, and not at all different to humans in that regard. As evidenced by a young girl with lily flowers in her bright green hair, chin held high and proud as she marched through the forest surrounding her home, followed by a trio of green haired boys. 

"Seiros, why are we doing this? You know Mother told us to avoid the northern part of the woods" asked Cichol, always a stickler for the rules and would later possess a certain unshakable quality. 

"Oh would you look at that, little Cichol once again running to Mother's words" sneered Macuil, caustic, unsociable but possessed of keen intellect. "I want to see for myself just what is out here that is so bad she forbade it" 

Cichol felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and sure enough, Indech was there, an easy smile "Ah, Cichol, ignore Macuil, you know he's a bit rotten, I'm sure it will end alright though should we stay together"

Seiros ignored Macuil's outraged outburst and walked on. "Macuil has the right of it, we have no idea why Mother does not allow us to visit this part of the forest and if we are fast, she should not notice" the determination on her face must have been infectious, as her brothers nodded, in Cichol's case a bit more tentative than Macuil or Indech. 

Wrapping their heavy cloaks about themselves they set out. 

Now, while they were indeed children of Sothis and were much stronger than a human of comparative age would be, they were still children, so when, of all things a Northern Gryphon crashed down in front of them, they rightly screamed in terror. None of them were strong enough to assume dragon form unaided, and none would be able to combat such a massive beast even still. 

Seiros ran, shoving her brothers in front of her as they sprinted to try reach safety. 

When she felt she had gained enough distance Seiros dragged her brothers into a thick bush. Even Macuil was fearful she noted, none of his usual bluster present. She lost track of time in her fear, her only thought being that she was stupid for disobeying Mother.

Suddenly the Gryphon's screeching was cut off with a wet gurgle.

Panting, the children of the Goddess peaked out from the bush to see a figure with shaggy, dark green hair pulled roughly back into a tail inspecting the corpse of the slain Gryphon, 'tsk'ing at the broken spear haft. The figure was not terribly tall, not much taller than Seiros herself but had noticable muscle for what seemed someone on the younger side.

"Bastard must have landed neck first, ugh, gonna need a new one" 

_'Eithniu?!'_ Seiros panicked, her eldest sibling was rarely the type to look kindly on intrusions. 

"Sister!" cried Cichol, who run out from the bushes towards her, Indech followed sedately and Macuil petulantly, trying to hide his earlier fear.

"Cichol? And both of you two as well? Never would have thought you a rule breaker Cichol....unless...." Eithniu pursed her lips and straightened her posture. 

"Seiros! Get yourself out here now!" 

With a huff Seiros clambered out of the underbrush as elegantly as she could. 

That is, not as well as she would have liked.

Eithniu frustratedly tried to pry her spear out of the Gryphon's neck but gave up after an arterial spray splashed her cheek. Discretely wiping her face (and licking the worst of it off, Gryphon blood always did taste nice)), Eithniu made her not-so-impressive height as imposing as she could, placing her hands on her hips and letting her musclature and cloak do the rest.

"Alright Seiros, I know Indech wouldn't care to come out here, Macuil, for all of his grumpiness would never directly disobey mother, and, well, Cichol is Cichol, you probably dragged him out of here from his books"

Pinning the girl with a glare, Eithniu stepped closer. To her credit, Seiros stood firm, but that was always how it was, the first and second daughters had never gotten along, always been confrontational.

"So, why did you come this way?" 

Seiros kept her defiant look, earning a smirk from Eithniu. _'Least she has spine'_, Eithniu would never admit to at least respecting that quality of her brat of a younger sibling. 

"Mother, refuses to explain just why the northern section of the forest is off-limits, I wanted to see for myself. Besides, you clearly do not pay attention to that rule yourself" Oh and was her voice as bratty as always, made Eithniu want to cuff Seiros on her ear just as mother did at times to herself.

Eithniu just gave a snort of dismissal. "I can take care of myself, flower-girl, as I have proven, with or without dragon form. You can't thats why you're not allowed this close to Tailtean's lands and I am" 

That wasn't the real reason but Seiros didn't need to know that. 

The reason Eithniu was allowed here was simply because even mother knew Eithniu just didn't belong in Zanado. Something about the creeping chill this far north, about the hyper dangerous animals....it spoke to her in ways the peace of Zanado never did.

It also got her away from the whispers some of the other Children of Sothis were prone to doing. 

They couldn't understand the restlessness she felt in that stifling valley.


	4. Did not think this through Version 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans that were not the best made have gone horribly awry. 
> 
> Or Areadbhar did not think this through, Dominic did not think this through and Blaiddyd was not in any shape to be the rational one. Setanta just deals with the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift to Xeppa! Who AUs, along with several more from the Discord got my unmotivated ass to actually write something! This AU is such gold and is practically canon compliant to all of us on the Discord.
> 
> Congrats Xeppa, you got us on this ship and we're gonna sail it till it sinks.
> 
> In other words, Version 2 references that some of the context changed from when I got the idea to when I actually wrote it. Neither version is the right one, just Version 2 is linked to another AU that influences the actions taken. Version 1 is coming right after this and has my original idea.

_ This wasn't supposed to happen! _

_ It wasn't supposed to be this way! _

When the idea first crossed her mind she'd given it some thought, she never wanted to leave his side so what better way to do that then really leave him something of her to always carry. She was a dragon however much time she'd spent in human form. There was power in that, power to do something that had never been done before. She hunted down Dominic just for this purpose.

Small lad he was atop his wyvern but despite the massive axe he wielded it wasn't his strength he was known for but....darker arts...whispers of ghosts. She was the Grim dragon and if any two could find a way to link the afterlife to the living it would be her and someone who knew the human side of things.

Her death was unexpected, that_ damn goat_. She had started planning for Blaiddyd and then quickly moved onto leaving the gift for Setanta, dying in battle wasn't impossible but she'd desperately wanted to live his full lifetime with him and then not any longer then she had to. 

It took months to pull herself back together again, it took months to realize she'd made a mistake, it took months for her to realize the voice of her 'ghost' was stronger than her. That bastard Nemesis, that  _ bastard _ . Dominic was close by, she could feel his death aura, weighing even more with guilt and dread. She was blind and deaf and mute, her goldy inheritance the only thing giving her any connection beyond Blaiddyd's iron grip on her and the taste of blood. With the blood came horror though, zinging along nonexistent nerves. Bone scraping bone that made every inch of her ache. Soundless screams vibrating along her blade, threatening to rip the fragile threads she holding on by.

Blaiddyd was killing Nabateans. She might be deaf to the outside world but his thoughts were a mad ramble of a voice filling the silence of her existence. She did not want to hear, did not want to see what she knew was coming. She spoke, she screamed but it was lost in the storm of his mind. For years this continued. Her only salvation the other token's she'd left. Her ring finger beat against his heart, his true heart, reaching for her and curling around the link like a threadbare blanket. A fragile flame hanging on stubbornly through the black insanity. Her fang, a thinner connection but still there, brushing against Setanta's determination and grief with an unfaltering stride. 

Finally the black eases into a deep darkness and then fades into sight and noise. A grey sky and white ground painted with blood and bodies, the cheering of an army, the grieving roar of comrades and her husband's broken frame. For the first time in years a familiar rage started within her rather than the foul hatred she'd started to steep in. A familiar presence came then, the thrum of the world stilling to a near stop as shadows came alive. She wondered if he would take her with him but the end merely brushed soothingly along her frayed threads allowing them to thicken and strengthen her connection, settling into her deeper than ever. A bargain struck, a price to pay, atonement to gain. She felt herself untense and flex with relief, she had not lost him yet. They were entombed, their comrades thankfully only touching her with necessity and respect.

They slept. 

She woke.

A strong hand gripped her, grief overshadowing determination. Her fang bite him in reprimand. He gave a watery laugh as he slid his other palm over her blade. She reached for what Blaiddyd was too lost to give and felt Setanta grip back. Grim blood sang.


	5. Did not think this through Version 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans that were not the best made have gone horribly awry. 
> 
> Or Areadbhar did not think this through, Dominic did not think this through and Blaiddyd was not in any shape to be the rational one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift to Xeppa! The original version I had in mind, Version 2 is in the previous chapter. Some context, Areadbhar can and will take over the bodies of her wielders if they should fall in battle and us them to continue to fight in vengeance and she does so in the most epic manner befitting a Grim Dragon.

_ This wasn't supposed to happen! _

_ It wasn't supposed to be this way! _

When the idea first crossed her mind she'd given it some thought, she never wanted to leave his side so what better way to do that then really leave him something of her to always carry. She was a dragon however much time she'd spent in human form. There was power in that, power to do something that had never been done before. She hunted down Dominic just for this purpose.

Small lad he was atop his wyvern but despite the massive axe he wielded it wasn't his strength he was known for but....darker arts...whispers of ghosts. She was the Grim dragon and if any two could find a way to link the afterlife to the living it would be her and someone who knew the human side of things.

Her death was unexpected, that _damn goat_. She had started planning for Blaiddyd and then quickly moved onto leaving the gift for Setanta, dying in battle wasn't impossible but she'd desperately wanted to live his full lifetime with him and then not any longer then she had to. 

It took months to pull herself back together again, it took months to realize she'd made a mistake, it took months for her to realize the voice of her 'ghost' was stronger than her. That bastard Nemesis, that _ bastard _. Dominic was close by, she could feel his death aura, weighing even more with guilt and dread. She was blind and deaf and mute, her goldy inheritance the only thing giving her any connection beyond Blaiddyd's iron grip on her and the taste of blood. With the blood came horror though, zinging along nonexistent nerves. Bone scraping bone that made every inch of her ache. Soundless screams vibrating along her blade, threatening to rip the fragile threads she holding on by.

Blaiddyd was killing Nabateans. She might be deaf to the outside world but his thoughts were a mad ramble of a voice filling the silence of her existence. She did not want to hear, did not want to see what she knew was coming. She spoke, she screamed but it was lost in the storm of his mind. For years this continued. Her only salvation the other token's she'd left. Her ring finger beat against his heart, his true heart, reaching for her and curling around the link like a threadbare blanket. A fragile flame hanging on stubbornly through the black insanity. Her fang, a thinner connection but still there, brushing against Setanta's determination and grief with an unfaltering stride. 

Finally the black eases into a deep darkness and then fades into sight and noise. A grey sky and white ground painted with blood and bodies, the cheering of an army, the grieving roar of comrades and her husband's broken frame. For the first time in years a familiar rage started within her rather than the foul hatred she'd started to steep in.

She strained, bloodlust bubbling up, grief anew roaring within her. The bones of her blade flexed, her heart stone thudding like it was still alive in her chest. Blaiddyd fading soul slipped through her grip, his regret and apology all but a whisper as death stole him from her at last. Some relief that he was finally free of his demons threaded through her but not enough. Not ever enough as the jeers climbed higher. 

So she drank, all the blood, all the death, all the pain and the rage. She fed and grew strong as she had refused to do before. Her threads cemented like iron chains and she reached for something familiar but new. The loose clutch hardened, her threads aligning to nerves, reaching into the chasm where his soul had been and poured her need and magic in to give it purpose. If she still had teeth she'd be baring them in a smug snarl as the battlefield went deathly silent. His form sliding up from the dirt, her threads knitting pieces back into shape against the debilitating injuries. This would have been agonizing in life but this was death. Only the ice forming along the flesh could slow her down now. From muscle and memory she lifted her weapon into a familiar stance. The noisy rabble was back, fear and panic tasting like a hearty stew in the air. She dived back into the fray, puppetting her husband's body and taking her vengeance against those who stole him from her. 

Their comrades cried her name, some strange ken coming to them. They did not get in her way, only coming to her aid so she could last through the fight, keeping the enemy from overwhelming her and severing her threads faster then she could remake them. Finally they were all dead and she drank again, stifling rot and knitting the bloodless slices back together. Arrows and spears were shoved out of flesh except where they're been buried in bone but that would not hinder her.

She hunted.

She hunted them all, every last one she could get.

The cold grew unbearable and she was alone, having banished the others from her presence, sending them home away from the pointless slaughter. The ice had crept in as always, making passing impossible even for his inexhaustible corpse when it also formed unhealable cracks on his skin. She needed to rest. So she found a cave, one ironically like a tomb and deemed it fit to rest in. Whether she woke in spring or the blood would run out was a question she did not care about. Her vengeance was had.

She slept.

She woke.

A strong hand gripped her, grief overshadowing determination. Her fang bite him in reprimand. He gave a watery laugh as he slid his other palm over her blade. She reached for what Blaiddyd was too lost to give and felt Setanta grip back. Grim blood sang. He lifted her from Blaiddyd's grip, his borrowed body finally resting.


	6. The Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaiddyd meets his end, but the one to collect on his karma has a proposal.

"Only righ' Ah die like this I s'pose...." 

A blond man panted in the snow, laying in a pool of his own blood, rapidly cooling and turning into red frost. Distantly, the calls of his men grew louder, but the wound that lucky Adrestian blighter had inflicted on Blaiddyd was too severe. Too great. The chill was starting to creep into his organs now. It wouldn't be long now.

"And so dies Blaiddyd _'tha Mad'_, Blaiddyd _'tha craven'_, Blaiddyd _'tha Betrayer'_ "

A cough and splutter and blood and bile dribbled from his mouth, snow crunched and shadow darkened suddenly. 

Blaiddyd groped for his spear. It was not Areadbhar, he didn't deserve to wield it, not since he returned to sanity and the crushing weight of his sins nearly broke him all over again.

Blaiddyd saw who approached him and forced himself to cling to life just a while longer, shallow breaths coming in pained gasps. 

"Only fittin' ah see yae of all people... _Byleth_, here at mah end" 

A dark thing, formless and shapeless, likely the deity wasn't even really here, only visible to Blaiddyd as he was taken to his rightful punishment.

Silence. Painful silence only broken by stuttered gasps from his failing body.

"Why did the Wolf Lord do it? Betray the Grim Shieldmaid's trust?" the....voice was angry in a way Blaiddyd could not describe. Doubted any bard could at that.

The 'Why help kill your family-in-law' was left unsaid.

That's the question isn't it? Why did he?

Blaiddyd couldn't answer that. Those years were nothing but a haze of howling pain and maddened fury.

Blaiddyd swallowed down his gorge and blood, spluttering in pain, hot and biting.

"If Ah knew Ah would tell ya, Dark One. As it is, Ah can't tell ya why, mah mind was not mah own in that time. Tis no excuse Ah know that. Least Ah know Ah'll be properly punished fer it..."

Blaiddyd forced himself to lock gazes with what he assumed to be the eyes of the formless death god.

_"Take yer revenge"_

More silence, his soldier's cries were louder, they were nearly here. Blaiddyd's only thoughts while waiting for the deathblow to strike were of his son. Setanta deserved better than his tainted legacy. Deserved better than a beast for a father.

At least he would have a better guardian to raise him.

"The Wolf Lord will atone" 

_'What?!'_

Apparantly that was said aloud, as the formless thing quivered in what seemed to be dark amusement. 

"The sons and daughters of the Dead Man-God are laid to rest prepared for the Battle of Battles yes? The Wolf Lord shall be prepared for a similar destination in the tides" That shadowy thing took a 'step' closer and Blaiddyd felt an even darker chill enter his dying body. "Should this Shadow of the beginning require it, the Wolf Lord will be brought back to this tide from the final slumber. This Shadow will pay no heed to the children of the Dead Man-God's crypt playing in return". A pause, Blaiddyd felt himself fixed with a glare so potent it somehow made him feel colder.

"You, Wolf Lord will not pass the Veil and only slumber until your duties are done at the end of all things" Blaiddyd gaped, that was it? Be refused to the Fires and the Garden both, and dragged out whenever the Dark One needed an agent in the world of the living? He could live with that.

"Very well then, Dark One, ya got a bargain. It's more than Ah could dare hope fer"

Something deep inside of Blaiddyd shifted and churned, not painfully but oddly. 

"This Shadow hopes it does not require the Wolf Lord for many turns" With that sad sounding (Blaiddyd hoped) reply, it was gone and the darkness abated. 

Blaiddyd's men gave panicked cries as they found him, still somehow holding on.

"Don' bury me in mah tomb" he slurred, glaring at the men until they nodded. "Bury me righ' here"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Just imagine Blaiddyd with the thickest possible scottish or irish accent possible when reading this for maximum effect.  
-And yeah, this is technically set before the previous two snippets so we playing with time a bit here
> 
> -'Byleth' in this is the eldritch Bylad AU's version of Bylad pre-mortality.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Antartique for helping with the creation of this AU and to the MsBlueBell AU Discord for helping me hammer this stuff out.


End file.
